


Dead Men Walking

by displayheartcode



Series: Normal is the Watchword [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/displayheartcode/pseuds/displayheartcode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumping what I had for a novel. </p><p>"A death cult from the French Revolution is back, and it's not the former Council agent Morris that they want to join..."</p><p>Or: I suck at summaries. A reincarnated necromancer has a nasty encounter with some old pals from a past life. Magic stuff happens in a college town. Dear god, I wrote most of this sleep-deprived a year ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Men Walking

**Author's Note:**

> So. 
> 
> I had this idea for a novel, but now looking back I decided to change parts of the world building and characters. The revised stuff is coming along very slowly. I have no clue when it'll actually be done. 
> 
> Chapter four is blocky and not even half written, and this was all or a writing assignment in my last year of high school. That's why things are weird and doesn't make sense. 
> 
> Really, chapter four is just a bunch of disconnected scenes. Most of this was written on the fly and serves as a learning experience for me. 
> 
> Other than that, I am proud of how I've written certain parts, but the rest...
> 
> (Yes, Dresden Files and Buffy had an influence on this.)

** Dead Men Walking**

_But if you close your eyes,_

_Does it almost feel like_

_Nothing changed at all?_

_\- Pompeii,_ Bastille

**Chapter One**

The Dark Bathrobe Committee reeked of death. 

And I recognized them instantly. It was something of an instinct for us to recognize each other. It made hiding a lot harder than it should be.

Stopping short at the upcoming turn, I saw the two hooded figures standing near the entrance to a generic and spooky alleyway. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I felt something chilling run up and down my spine. Duncan was prattling about something, but the fact that two obviously dark-sided Ibburim were nearby, was a powerful enough distraction. I suddenly felt very exposed in the dwindling sunlight—no staff, no wand, no enchanted jacket, just me and my wits. That's all I had against some necromancers.

Go me.

"Oi, Duncan." I fought to keep my voice even and steady. "I need you to run back to the dorms. Now."

The werewolf stopped talking and followed my gaze. He sniffed the air, frowning in confusion. "Why—"

"Get Brian," I instructed. "Tell him that Maurice and Anais are here." Unpleasant memories from that lifetime rose up in my mind's eye. "He'll get it."

The stoplightconveniently turned green.

Duncan was new at the whole fighting-against-bad-guys thing, and no way was I going to get him caught up in anything like this. He wasn't used to fighting outside of his weight class except for the occasional vampire, but that's all I was used to doing these days. And while his physical powers were impressive, he was going to get torn to shreds if he went up against Ibburim that had no problems with possessing people and other pleasantries.

"They smell kinda like you," he said quietly.

I could feel the burning gazes of the Ibburim on me. Something in the back of my conscious stirred with warning. I heard the footfalls of Duncan running for better backup, and I took a step off the sidewalk and went to confront my old pals.

 

**-**

To make a long and detailed story short: Magic is real. Every myth and legend in the world is real, but humans have this habit about looking away when something doesn't make sense in their eyes. Oh, what cheesy special effects, they would say. More would call out, “science!” The lengths that some would go to say that the monsters in the shadows aren't real are amazing. It wasn't like that centuries ago, but science has changed how ordinary vanilla humans see the world. This new world does not include beings like the Goblin King hunting in Europe; the Greco-Roman gods strolling down Broadway Avenue; or the corpses in a morgue being possessed by necromancers.

The real world is scarier and bigger than what most people would think, and I always seem to find myself in the middle of a mess.

I'm an Ibbur—a type of monstrous spirit that latches itself onto a human body, grows with it, and gets dumped into a new one after that body dies. Of course, some Ibburim didn't have to stay in those bodies. With some nifty necromancy they could just hijack some dead ones and wear them out instead. I was never fond of that option and always decided to live out each new incarnation and stay for the ride. I would stay around, use my necromantic powers to help people, and move on. That’s been my new agenda for the past century or two, and it worked more often than failed.

And the reincarnation isn't always that bad, but it's always a shock waking up one day to realize that you've lived countless lives, and not all of them were pleasant. You know, like the fact that I used to conspire with two other Ibburim in France by doing evil and stupid things with Dark Magic. Cults, I tell you. Nothing ever good comes from being involved in a cult that specializes in Dark Magic and death. 

I was smart enough to get out, but they obviously didn't take that well.

           

**-**

The second I stepped near them on the pavement I could _feel_ their power. It felt old and cold and unyielding. It was like walking outside from a cozy warm house to the freezing conditions of a blizzard. It was off-putting, to say the least. The stirring continued in my mind, old memories and feelings waking up from a long slumber. In the midst of the mental stumbling, I almost wasn't aware of a slight, tendril-like focus being applied to my head. My defenses were slow and I kneeled over in sudden pain of what felt like an icepick tapping into my skull. My vision went blurry and my hands dropped to the ground. A flurry of unexpected images rushed through my mind, me being unable to stop the onslaught as it crippled me. Black spots appeared in my vision and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.

 _Sonovabitch_ , it looked like someone was upping their game in neuromancy these days. Nausea churned my stomach as my mind recovered from the invasion. Someone just went flipping through my most intimate thoughts and memories. They just tore through years of mental preparation like it was nothing but wet paper. This clearly wasn't going to be a friendly chat.

There was a rustle of fabric and a pair of feminine leather shoes stood in my line of sight. She knelt down and soothingly ran her hand through my hair, crooning. "So sorry, Oriel, but I had to be sure it was you."

What? Me blindly following a bunch of guys in dark cloaks and radiating necromantic powers wasn't enough?  Where was the trust between archenemies these days?

Her ice-cold fingers tipped my head up so that I could see her face. A lovely visage smiled at me. Hair too golden to be real and china-doll features were a stark contact to her Dementor getup. What ruined her radiance was a group of raw sores and bruises that were under her chin. More could be seen going down the hollow of her throat and disappearing under the opening of her robe, signifying that her borrowed body was nearing its expiration date.

"Anais," I croaked. "What wonderful skin that you're wearing. Is that Maurice I see lurking behind you?" 

The corpse smiled at me. Her hand left my face, but I could still feel the cold imprint of her touch. I shakily stood up and faced my old comrades. It was almost funny that it was a little over three centuries ago that we'd met in an alleyway, and with them testing my mental barriers.

Maurice was wearing the skin of an older man with brown curls and a pointed chin. It wasn't much different from his previous body, to be honest. He also looked worst for wear. He cautiously eyed me, and a sneer appeared as he caught a look at my new body. "Oriel, you've obviously changed."

"I'm sorry that not everyone can shop at the Mortuaries 'R Us like you guys do." The cold radiating from them chilled me to my fingertips. I widened my stance and curled my hands for the inevitable. It was also a good technique to pick up before pissing people off, because someone was going to have to throw that first punch.  Especially since the use of my old name from centuries ago caught me off guard. "And stop calling me that. In case you haven't noticed, there's been a chromosome change last time we've met."

Maurice didn't say anything.

"I thought you two were still in Europe?" I held my hands behind my back, hoping that they couldn’t be seen shaking in fear. Anais and Maurice had found me hundreds of years later in a small city outside of Boston. If two necromancers with a grudge could find me, then I was terrified at what my other old enemies were up to these days. Who else was next? "What gives? I mean, if I was told earlier that you guys were coming then I would have come with a matching bathrobe or something."

"We heard that you were falling back to your usual habits." Anais glided behind me, watching me with a critical eye. Her hood fell off and her hair cascaded down her back distractingly. Then I remembered that she was wearing the body of a girl that she'd most likely murdered. That pretty much killed any lingering physical attraction for her. She had the habit of wearing pretty people.

"That's about forty years too late," I said, my mouth running off faster than it should. _How did they find that out?_ I thought. "Welcome to the new and improved me. Isn't it amazing what those twelve-step programs can do?"

"You've grown more insolent," Maurice said in a dry tone. "I never knew it was possible for one's immaturity to thrive, but we aren't here to critique you."

Something sharp and cold pricked the back of my neck. "For now," Anais whispered in my ear, "We would like you to answer a few questions." She twisted the handle of her knife so that the edge would sink deep if I moved too quickly. 

 _Stay calm,_ I told myself. _Duncan's getting Brian and you two can take these guys down. You can do it all over again. Don't say anything stupid._

"Is it a plant, animal, or a mineral?"

 _You're an idiot,_ my mind said.

"See? I told you that he's useless," Anais complained. "He's weak. All of that potential is wasted."

 _I'm not him,_ I wanted to say. _I'm not Oriel anymore. I don't want to be Oriel._

"But it's there," Maurice said. He stuck his chin out like he was getting ready to argue on my behalf on becoming a card-carrying member of the Dark Bathrobe Committee. He looked over to me, locking direct eye contact. "He prefers pretending to be a mortal."

I averted his gaze as quickly as I could. Eye contact was best avoided when dealing with the supernatural. Then I stopped myself from saying something even more stupid, like, _I did it for the health benefits_. "Listen," I said. "We're all friends with hidden agendas. So how about you cut to chase on why you're here?"

"Haven't you heard?" Anais and Maurice shared a look. The knife was pressed a little deeper into my skin, not enough to break through but enough to keep me from moving at what she was going to say next. "We're getting everyone back together again."

Wow. Some hazing initiation this was. If this was their way getting me to join, then I wondered what it was going to be when I say no?

"I'm flattered that—"

"Not you," Maurice interrupted. Annoyance crossed his face and he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Now actually seeing you, it was foolish of us to even bring you in the first time. We've heard enough of your exploits, and we find you to be…" He lips thinned and he glared at Anais. "To be honest, you've had the potential and judging by your past actions you have no clue how to actually use it even with our help. What we're looking for, Oriel, is your ex-wife."

I saw red and lunged at him.

Anais switched hands so that the knife was in front of my throat. She held me back with her supernatural-enhanced strength, and I fought against her.

"No! Stay away from her!" I snarled, trying my best to break free of Anais' hold. The blade's edge skimmed over my throat.

"We have the information," Anais said. "We don't need him now. He's a liability, he's useless."

Maurice held a hand up. "There's still something that he can do."

I'd told Duncan to get Brian, and now they were going to get her. After all this time I was so used to guys like Anais and Maurice wanting to get me, to use me. I was the one with the dark and troubled past. Will’s ( _Brian’s,_ my mind corrected) had a much lighter and fluffier past with better lifespans.

But this didn't make any sense. I wasn't with my ex-wife in that lifetime with Anais and Maurice. I was trying to woo a French noble woman and accidentally being the cause of the new management for the vampires in France (plot twist: it had involved the cult _and_ the French noble woman). Then I'd met my ex-wife who was a part of the resistance movement, but it wasn't until a few lifetimes later when we got married. So why—

A sharp crack reverberated in the alleyway, and Maurice jerked suddenly. His eyes rolled up and a bizarre expression crossed over his face. He slumped and was leaning against Brian who materialized behind him, holding my staff diagonally across the necromancer's chest. The blue ring that he wore looked scorched from supplying the magic for the invisibility glamor.

"Run!" I shouted.

"How 'bout a trade?" he asked, ignoring me. "My ex-husband for yours, Anais. No one has to get hurt."

Anais laughed. "Maude, I wish I could say that I've missed you." I hissed as she steadied her knife to cut my throat. "What makes you think that I want to trade?"

If Brian had any reaction to being called by that name then it didn't showed. "Because you two get to walk away safely. Leave the city and don't come back."

"When are you ever going to learn that not everyone has the same morals as you?" Her wrist twitched and—

—I slammed my foot hard on hers, pivoted, and jammed my right elbow into her. I extended my arm to lock hers, and I twisted her wrist to send the knife clattering to the ground. Now away, I raised my leg and struck her chest with the bottom of my foot.

I held my hand out and I caught my staff that Brian threw in the air. I pointed the head at her, letting my anger do the rest. The carved runes ignited with dark lights, and the wood became heated under my fingers. They were going to take my ex-wife, Anais almost killed me, so I would love nothing more than to watch that Ibbur burn.

"Well, damn, you almost had a chance there." I widened my stance and focused on the Germanic incantation for fire. "Still feel like leaving in one piece?" I asked.

"I was wrong about you," Anais heaved. She was taking deep breaths and her body was looking more decayed, the sores and bruises were spreading over her skin like a fast-growing rash. An invisible breeze made the hem of her robe flutter. She held her hands out and the shadows surrounding her moved closer, and the temperature dropped dramatically. "Even without Maurice I believe I can still—" She swiped her hand as if she was going to slap me, and the shadows rose in the air, and sharpened into points that were heading straight at me.

I threw a weak shield up almost too late, but the shadows moved around me. I turned around to see one whipping a tail around Brian's ankle and throwing him to ground, and another poised over his throat to kill. More were running under Maurice as if it they were water, and they started moving him.

Anais shoved me roughly with her burning hands and held her palm out. There was a ripping sound, like tearing paper, and the wall ahead of me buckled as a faint slash of light appeared, growing larger by the second. She manipulated the shadows to carry Maurice inside the portal.

I pushed myself up to my feet and threw my body at her. I wrapped my arms and legs around her, and let my body slack like dead weight. We fell to the ground and she tried to fight me off this time. Gravel embedded itself into my skin as we rolled. I locked my legs around her waist and pushed her head facedown. The goal was to knock her out, but I was having a hard time concentrating on morals when she was planning to torture Brian and kill me.

I pressed my weight down on her, feeling something dark and vengeful coiling in my stomach. "I'm sure that the Council wouldn't mind if I—"

 _What the—_ Something thin, serrated, and sharp slashed at me. I fell to my back and held my hands out in front of my face as a curved piece of shadow lacerated my hands. It was the size and width as my forearm and was determined to kill me.

There were moments in my life right now that I've regretted not practicing more with necromancy. There were aspects of it that I've always had trouble with, like raising the dead and manipulating shadows and such like. And I've had good reasons for this—one was that raising the dead took too long, and that I could anger too many gods with stepping my toes in their domains; and another was that manipulating shadows was _hard_.

You got this thing that shouldn't be tangible, but it somehow is and it wants it shred your face and hands to ribbons. Compare to that, it made things like elemental magic and basic wards easier to master. It also took a lot of power to make something that shouldn't be tangible into an actual tangible and dangerous object. Even if I started practicing now and didn't actually die, I still wouldn't be at this level in the next century or two.

And that was what scared me. 300 years ago Anais was never this powerful. Sure she was scary as hell with her neuromancy, but this only added another thing to be fearful about when near her. Not only could she crack your mind like a walnut, but also she could make your own shadow kill you.

Oh, and she was escaping. That was hard to notice when she had Brian and I fighting off her shadowy mooks.

Anais smiled victoriously. It was as sharp as one of her shadows and knives. She was looking less human and more like a quickly decaying zombie from the overuse of her powers. She was rotting right before my eyes, her skin falling to pieces, and her golden strands of hair falling to the ground.

"Au revoire," Anais waved and she stepped into the light. The portal to the Faerie Realm closed behind her.

Almost immediately her shadows melted in the air, leaving Brian and I bleeding from the lacerations in the ugly silence. 

It was official: I had no wits.

 

**Chapter Two**

The biggest blow would have to be my ego.

I used to be on a Wight Council payroll as one of their jack-of-all-trades law enforcement. Because of how erratic and dangerous the supernatural community could be, there weren't many volunteers to be the spooky men in black suits cleaning up the messes that no liked to talk about.

It was an intensive four-year training program somewhere out in the abandoned and sandy areas of Phoenix. There I had training in magical and mundane combat, law, weapons ranging from a broadsword to my fists, magical theory, forensics, and anything else that could help me stay alive when fighting dragons to telling a mortal FBI agent why I had to take over their case (the reactions were always varied).

All were very useful skills, but they never had entirely carried over into my newer body. Muscle memory could only do so much when there's a different muscular system to work with. That was still the biggest pain for me.

40 years ago I had the training and decades of fieldwork under my belt. It only took one bullet for me to start all over again. Now I wasn't the seasoned agent but a young adult that's been going up against monsters way above my weight class. Hey, some pesky Ibburim couldn't be that hard after what had happened last year, right?

Well, like those vampires, Anais and Maurice had the upper hand by knowing me in my past incarnations. For years I've had been pushed past my limitations and it's been _tiring._ I was handling cases that my previous self would have been able to do, not some kid with a handful of skills, some luck, and friends.

In a way, it all felt like a grim reminder at how over my head I often was, and that I might as well be playing Russian Roulette with my life, and I was having trouble finding a damn.

 

**-**

 

I helped Brian climb up the stairs to my apartment that I shared with two of my friends. Anais' shadow had made good work of his ankle, and I had done my best to stop the bleeding. Sadly, he wasn't the petite woman anymore so it was harder to be his crutch when there were several flights of ascending stairs.

"Jesus, Boy Scout," I wheezed. "Once Amna can replicate that potion, we'll be using it to make these sorta things easier." I happily envisioned carrying a shorter Brian, imagining how much easier that would be instead of his taller self leaning against me and using my staff as a cane.

Yeah, using the elevator would be easier, but we had just used a good amount of magic with the clean up which meant that for the next hour or so anything electronic would short out. Our cells were dead, and we were exhausted. This was my first big fight for the year, and I was clearly out of practice.

 Magic could take a lot out of a person. It was like a muscle, the more used in moderation meant less of a sore body. The. That meant the more used in an excessive amount and your body would want revenge. In that case, I had that and my head threatening to spill every last memory that I had all over my consciousness.

"I never knew she was that powerful," I said. "At least she's weak now. It'll take her what? A week to get a new body and recharge?"

"Less if she doesn't pull that shadow stuff on us," Brian said. "How are you feeling? You were looking pretty off."

"Never better!" I cracked a thin smile. "I feel like a whole new man."

Brian frowned. My choice of words weren't the best after Anais had been poking around my mind. "Did you take your medications today?"

I sighed. "Yes."

"Do you need me to call—"

"No," I said. I already had a session booked for next week, and there was also no way that I wanted my mom to find out what happened.

"But—"

"I am fine, _dearest_ ," I snapped. "Why worry about me when you're the one that they want? Why you?" I looked him over, taking in the matted brown-auburn hair, the hazy blue eyes, and the bloodied First Nation skin. Thin and shallow cuts marked his face and his hands. He looked nothing like the calm threat that he was back in the alley. Just for a moment, his image changed and I forced myself to look over his shoulder. I could see it out of the corner of my eye, slipping into my thoughts… I could see _her_ … I was struck with the sudden feeling of the world tipping under my feet and I was being sucked backwards into something, my peripheral vision turning fuzzy…

"Morris!" Brian snapped his fingers. He took his weight off me and rested on the barrister. “Morris, look at me.” He struck the end of my staff on the steps, the loud sound brought me back to reality and everything suddenly became jarringly in focus. I was on the steps in my apartment building, I was home, and I wasn’t _there_. I was _here_. _Herehereherere…_

I sank to my knees with my head cradled in my arms. Nope. Not fine. I wasn’t fine. I slurred something really reassuring ("M’okay, s’me…"). My mind staggered as my thoughts more or less played pinball. There was a small burst of static pain whenever the ball would hit a target. _Ba, ba, bing_. Anais was as scary as hell. _Ba, ba, bing_. She’d pulled a mind whammy on me when searching my thoughts for information. _Ba, ba, bing._ She clearly triggered a relapse _. Bingbingbing!_

"Come on, Jennifer. Come back to me."

I counted down from ten and pull my hands away from my face. The world was back into focus, almost too much. There were the pins and needles feelings skittering under my skin, making me feel a sense of hyper vigilance that did not go well with the mental pain.

“Hey,“ he whispered. “Jennifer Vidal Morris, are you with me?“

I checked to see if I was bleeding from my nose or ears, a common side-effect from being the victim of really invasive neuromancy. Then I did the mental check up that consisted of me going over my full name, age, date of birth, and other identifying facts that separated me from my past incarnations. Satisfied enough that I could even remember the name of my middle school principal without gushing blood from my orifices, I nodded.

“Hey,” I mumbled. I threaded my hands in the back of my head and tugged on my spiky hair. “Think I’m a-okay.”

'You’re lucky that the nearest clinic is closed for construction.” Brian offered his injured hand, but I used the railing to help myself up.

“Lucky me,” I wheezed.

I had all of the luck.

We stopped on the fifth landing and I fumbled in my pockets to find my key. I was the first door on the left, next to the stairs. I placed the key inside and closed my eyes, focusing on the wards.

It was a new apartment and it was empty for months. The usual threshold that could keep my friends and I safe from uninvited enemies wouldn't start appearing for another month.

The week when we'd moved in, I had spent an entire day laying protective ward after protective ward to ensure some safety until the threshold was up. For now, we were stuck with using something that took a lot of energy out of me each day. The stupid thing would drain me like the battery that I was every time I would leave for my morning run.

I opened my frazzled senses, and the image of a pale yellow-green shield that encompassed the apartment room appeared in my mind. While slowly turning the key, I pictured part of the ward splitting where the door was, allowing us to enter without being slammed into the opposite wall. The lock clicked. I opened the door and nodded at Brian.

He hobbled inside and I followed him, slowly closing the door with each step that I took. Shutting it, I released the hold that I had and felt instantly clammy. I placed both hands on the back of the door, and breathed deep and even breathes. I did my best to ignore the thumping headache, and the stinging cuts on my hands and face, and pushed some of my meager energy into the ward. My stomach clenched into something cramp-like, and I felt the prickling shock of moving magic around. The doorway that I had made was closing and the wards were returning to their usual place.

"Ça va?" Brian muttered. I felt the weight of his hand on my back.

"Could be worse. Right?" I wiped the sweat from my forehead and felt my hands shaking. If I could get to couch without throwing up then I would be fine. That was a dumb move on my part. Physically, I could be worse, but mentally the toll was starting and I was going to be feeling it for the next few days. Messing around with minds always left something damaged. 

"What the hell happened to you two?" someone asked from behind us. I turned around saw Emma clutching her cellphone in one hand. "Duncan called me, and he doesn't know anything. And Amna's stuck at the lab so no one can reach her, and I when I came in I saw Brian running out with your stuff and..." She made a small, gasping sound when she saw our injuries. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, and her gray eyes went wide.

 "Oh, this? Brian and I are starting a boy band with some old friends," I said. "We're thinking of calling ourselves the Slashers." Brian jabbed me with his elbow. "Sorry. Emma, we're fine. We just need the first-aid kit. Call the others and tell them that everything is okay." The lie felt simple on my tongue.

"Where's Duncan?" Brian asked her. He put my staff in the holder where the umbrellas were, and he joined me on the couch. I sat horizontally and used his lap as a footrest.

Leaning my head on the armrest, I shut my eyes and tried to clear my mind. The mental preparations that Anais had broken were still cracked and shattered in places. I took a deep, calming breath and pictured a heavy metal door that could only be opened on my side. It was strong, sturdy, and could protect me (and others) from whatever was inside.

Using what I was taught during my sessions and through personal experience, I imagined my various incarnations being placed on the other side of the door—away from me and could only come out if I chose to.

Those incarnations had memories, experiences, enough lifetimes to cripple me mentally and unable to do anything (or in some cases, an incarnation could have total control over the body). It took the combined effort of the medication, my physiotherapist, and me to keep it all in check.

Otherwise bad things would happen.

"He went to ask his sister if she heard anything," Emma said. I heard her opening the cupboards in the kitchenette, trying to find the first-aid kit.

Not bad, I thought. If something dark were brewing, then his sister would know by now. That was a perk of being the new second-in-command of a werewolf pack in eastern Massachusetts. I distracted myself with the idea of Fiona and her pack hunting down Anais and Maurice. See, Dr. Saunders? I am thinking happy thoughts.

"Kit's in the closet," I reminded Emma, and winced as she loudly slammed one of the cupboards closed. I felt something poke my side and I sat up, almost forgetting that I had Anais' knife in my other pocket. I took it out and handed it to Brian. "Do you want to have the honor of using this to track her?"

The knife was one of her possessions, and depending on how long she had it then it could lead us to her no matter what body she was wearing.

Or she could be thinking way ahead and might have found a way to block anything magical from finding her. Best to think positive.

"You're too kind." Brian wiped the knife on his ruined jeans and put it on the coffee table. Emma put the heavy first-aid kit next to it. "I got it," he said and he opened the kit. "Go call Duncan. We'll talk more about this tomorrow morning."

Emma raised a fair eyebrow. "I want the full story. Don't censor anything to keep me safe." Her chin trembled, but her gaze eventually steadied on me.

"Would I ever lie to you?" I said. I put on my best smile.

"When didn't you lie to me last year?"

I couldn't think of a snappy enough rebuttal and the smile went away. 

Emma held her phone to her ear and walked to the kitchenette. "There's leftover pasta from last night. I'll heat it up for you guys."

I looked to Brian. "You been teaching her that?"

"The pasta?" He was inspecting a glass vial that had a purple potion smoking inside. He took the stopper off and poured some drops on a worn rag. Steam hissed and the liquid bled through all over the fabric. "I think it's a family recipe. You'll like it." He rubbed the rag on his hands and grimaced as the skin began to knit together. He was going to have noticeable scars, but they'll fade away throughout the year.

 "Not that."

His mouth twitched and he wrapped the discolored rag tightly around his ankle and said something in French that I was never taught in class. He cautiously poked the skin and let out a deep breath when it didn't wrinkle and fold under his touch. The potion was unpredictable for the deeper wounds because more flesh and muscle needed repairs.

"Morris, I told you that she could pick these things up quick." He applied the rag to his face, careful to avoid his eyes and mouth. When done, he poured more of the potion on the rag and handed it to me. Soon we were both healed, scarred, and our clothes were going to have to be thrown away because of the bloodstains and cuts.

Brian flexed his ankle and tested his weight on it. "Not bad," I said as he stood up. "You staying for dinner?"

"I think it’ll be better if I head back to the dorms."

"Come on. What's the harm of you staying the night?" I leaned on the back of my arms.

Brian crossed his arms over his chest, his Québécois accent started to come back when he emphasized his points. "It’s not like I have any of my stuff here, and my classes are the other side of the campus."

"Are you sure that you don't want a start on stealing my shirts?" I quipped.

He slipped his hand inside the collar of his shirt and pulled out an amulet that was hanging of a chain. It gave off a faint but steady glow. The ring on his finger was the same, but nowhere near as bright. "Freshly charged. I got this."

I swung my legs off the couch. "Or I can create a portal. There's these Ley Lines not that far off from here—"

"Mikhail—"

"What?" I said, standing up. My voice lowered into something reminiscent of what it used to be. Pressure began building up between my eyes and for a moment I didn't saw Brian standing before me. I saw _Will_ with her strawberry blonde hair falling down her shoulders, her blue gaze piercing me like it had always done for centuries.

 _Bingbingbing!_ Congratulations on the few months of recovery. Your prize: A quick hallucination of someone that you care about. Have fun sleeping, you masochistic bastard.

"Will— _Brian.”_ I forced the emphasis on the current name. My fingers were clenched into the couch. I needed to be me right. I didn’t needed to be the old me, the old me had baggage that was clearly having a negative affect on my life. ‘’Let me do something.”

It was the use of our old names that we had during our marriage _and_ the topic _and_ my injury that made the space between us grow tense. I stared into his eyes and tried to think of some way to convince him to stay the night.

"You need to trust me on this," Brian said. "Mikhail, it's me. Please." His mouth twisted into that line that came from me hovering too much.

I wrestled with my options. Gods, I would love for him to stay the night. I couldn't let him get hurt again. I wasn't going to let any of that happen again. Anais and Maurice weren't going to grab on him of the street and carry out whatever plan that they had.

But he was capable of defending himself. Between Fiona and I, he knew how to handle himself in a physical fight and he knew a lot more magic than I do. Anais and Maurice were somewhere else, nursing their egos and trying to find new bodies on for size. It would take them days, maybe another week, until they would feel powerful enough to try anything. We were now in an odd resting period before the next encounter.

I stared holes into the wall behind him. "Stay safe. Okay?"

Brian relaxed. "I'll call you once I get back." He looked over to Emma who was trying not to act like she was witnessing the entire conversation. “If there’s another relapse; call me!"

This was going to be a fun night.

 

**Chapter Three**

 

Something was beeping.

I groaned and didn't even bothered lifting my head up from my pillow. My head was pounding and my body felt like I'd pulled several all-nighters at work. Why was I so sore? I tried to remember what I'd done last night at work, but my mind wasn't coming up with anything. I couldn't even remember climbing into bed after my late shift. _That's it,_ I thought. _I'll start taking those vacation days._ I groaned to myself and pulled the sheets tighter around me, not caring to wonder why they were cold.

"Will, can you get that?" I slurred when the beeping persisted. I buried my face in my pillow, surprised to not smell her shampoo lingering in the fabric. "Will? Dear?" I blindly patted down her side of the bed, and....was surprised to not feel a thing. Empty space took up her side of the bed. In fact, there wasn't even a second half of the bed.  

Panic made me wake up as I hastily realized that my wife was missing, this wasn't my bed, and there was a piercing headache that was coupled with the slow ache that covered my body.

Something was really wrong with this picture.

I lifted my head and the room came spinning into view. Shafts of early sunlight struck me in the face, blinding me—and then everything came back. I remembered my full name, today's date, my address, and all of these little things that separated me from Mikhail. I was a Hispanic young adult that was born and raised in Massachusetts. I wasn't the white middle-aged man that was born in Russia and grew up in New York City. I forced that incarnation to linger in my subconscious for a second before I made it go away. The prickling feeling returned as I felt myself getting comfortable into my own skin again.

 _Your name is Jennifer Vidal Morris,_ I told myself. _You're Morris not Mikhail._   I repeated it a few times until the prickling sensation went away.

I rubbed my eyes and yawned. "Welcome back," I grumbled, ignoring the hollow feeling under my breastbone. I rolled over to turn my alarm off and took the opportunity to check my phone. I had text messages from Duncan (nothing new to report), Amna (telling me when she was coming back from work), and Brian (reassuring me that he'd made it back, and he'd even left a voice message). I scrolled down and saw some messages from my mom, asking me when I was free for her to pop by for brunch, or even just to visit. I let my thumb hover above the reply button, a part of me wanted to tell her everything, but I restrained myself by remembering how well she took when hearing about my side job.

It had turned out that homicide detectives weren't so thrilled on their daughters and her friends becoming unlicensed paranormal investigators. I've had apparently taken up two of her (and what used to be my) least-favorite things: Idiotic vigilantism and reckless endangerment involving magic.

If those cases in the previous years had annoyed her, then I wasn't sure how she was going to take the fact that an evil cult that I used to be a part of now wanted to use Brian for something.

She would tell me to contact the Council. Let them do the work, let them investigate, let them figure this all out.

I reasoned with myself that due to the recent political problems, social standings, and a whole other mess of issues that the Wight Council couldn't be bothered. They had much bigger fish to fry, and Anais and Maurice weren't actually that high up on the food chain to them. There were scarier things for them to attend to (like managing with the new vacuum of power in the Massachusetts area, corruption in the shape shifting packs, certain Wizarding Houses being up to something. All things that I might have been witness to).

 _You've faced bigger assholes before,_ I reminded myself. _This should be over soon enough._ I kicked the sheets off my narrow bed and got myself ready for my run.

I'd gotten lazy. Last year I'd gotten rid of a major threat in the town, and now I was facing the consequences. If the vampires were still around, then I would have been prepared with my meeting with Anais and Maurice. I wouldn't be so sore like I was now. If the vampires were still around, then there would have been a better outcome last night, and the Council would be investigating here again.

But life never worked that way.

Paranoia? Maybe. A healthy sense of self-perseverance wasn't anything bad...

Even with the growing sunlight outside, I prepped myself for a fight. Carrying a six-foot staff of polished wood would be very conspicuous, even for a college town. I settled for some iron and copper bracelets that I'd laced with some magic so that I can throw harder punches, and a knapsack that was filled with my running gear and some extra goodies.

It was early in October, so a heavy jacket wouldn't be necessary. I slipped on my lightweight running clothes and my favorite pair of sneakers. I tiptoed outside, careful not to wake Amna and Emma, and I went out to get some answers.

 

-

 

Kelley, Massachusetts, and a nice college town that is right outside of Boston. Small and slowly gaining some diversity within its population, the biggest problem used to be around here were some vampires. There are many kind of vampires out there, but the ones that used to reside in this town had a name that no one could pronounce right. They used to contribute to the strange disappearances, odd occurrences, and exsanguination of bodies—humans and animals. They were the usual kind, similar to what Stoker wrote about (brilliant work he did there, he basically saved Romania with that book). They hated sunlight, allergic to garlic, burned thanks to holy objects, had superior strength and speed, and they had the collective brain capacity of a slug. Which was why they used to be the thugs of choice for the other and stronger kinds of vampires.

And without a leader, they'd scattered.

Of course, Kelley is still a hotspot for some supernatural activity. There's this odd array of Ley Lines—magical longitude and latitude lines all over the town. It created easier openings to create portals to the Faerie World, drew in strange amounts of supernatural beings, and weird things generally happened.

As if the last few years hasn't been enough proof at the town's college alone.

Demonically-possessed TAs, werewolf frats making deals with the faeries, the whole vampire situation, and now this. Freaking necromancers and their need to make a comeback.

 

-

 

I changed my route that morning.

Instead of running from my building to the CVS and a local coffee shop, I went to the alley. Now I knew magic from first-hand experience and from my training, and I damn well knew how to track things. Brian had the dagger that he was prepping for a long-term tracking spell. It was up to me sabotage whatever Anais and Maurice had planned.

I stood in front of the wall that Anais had created a portal through. I took a spray can out of my bag and shook it. I sprayed a rune over the brick wall, keeping the Latin incantation running off my tongue as smooth as possible. The painted lines and curves glowed blue and it forced an imprint of the portal to appear. The thin slash of light tore through realities and the rune acted. The shape twitched, and it moved itself over the portal. The light turned blue and gradually faded away, ensuring that there was no way that a portal could open or close there.

It was temporary, but it was the best that I could do for the moment. I lacked the power and discipline (and clearance) to make anything really concrete.      

I made myself smile. Now it felt like I was getting something done. "Who's useless now?" I said out loud.

That made me feel a bit better.

Okay. Now for my next trick.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a collapsible circle that was made from the same stuff that window shield wipers were made from, so that it was easy to travel with and could always make a perfect circle. I brushed the ground clear of pinecones and gravel, and I placed the circle flat on the ground. I drew a chalk circle around it a few times, too. Precaution was nothing to scoff at no matter what you were trying to summon. Next from memory, I scribbled down some sigils around the outside of the circle, purposely leaving down some of my will. The sigils lit up a pale blue and were cracking with small sparks of blue-white energy when I stood up.

Magic Circle Theory 101: Don't step inside the Summoning Circle unless you want to end up trapped with whatever you're summoning; make sure that nothing nearby can break the circle, because then whatever you're summoning could escape; and always be on your guard.

Sure, I could have done it without the extra circles, but there was a weakness between realities on the wall behind me, and I wasn't going to take any chances. The last time I'd gotten sloppy involved a strange sort of monster that did _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ all over campus.

I cracked my knuckles and rolled my neck. This was going to be a fun conversation.

I held my hands out and I started the basic spell. I already had the spirit's name, and I've had called for him before, so it didn't take that long for the alleyway to be filled with thick shadows. Heavy clouds rolled over the pale blue sky and it felt like the air pressure had dropped. The ground inside the circle bubbled and churned and the shadows coiled together to resemble a snake. It prodded the defenses of the circle, testing to see how well I'd made it. A brilliant blue-white light flared again, keeping it inside.

Then it saw me.

Great, snapping jaws opened and a forked tongue twirled. "Deathling," it snarled in a low, gravely voice. "You dare summon me from between—"

"Nice opening credits you got there," I said. "Been working on that for long?"

The shadowy snake dropped down to the ground and reformed itself, like sand being reshaped over time. Renfield became your basic humanoid figure made out of shadows. Twin white lights burned where its eyes should be, and its claws extended and sharpened just in case if it was able to escape and would try to kill me.

"Master," it said, bowing slightly at the waist.

(What could I say? Ever monster needed a Renfield.)

"There was a fight here last night," I told him. "Me and Brian against two other Ibburim. I need you to tell him if there's anything I should know about Maurice and Anais."

"Perhaps if you release me, O Master of Darkness, then I'll show you and I will rip your throat and drink your spilled blood." He raised a clawed hand up.

"Maybe next time." I rubbed my face with my hands. "Okay, Renfield. Have you see or heard anything about Anais or Maurice? Can anything here tell you something?" I gestured to the alley.

"You're weak," it said. "You lost an easy fight and now _all your enemies shall know!"_

I curled my hand into a fist and I let my necromantic power flow and condense itself. My fist gave off a cold, black glow. Granted, the guy was all talk but other creatures in the in-between really liked their gossip. "Really? You want to go there?"

Renfield recoiled. "Master—"

"I ask you thrice, what can you see?" I commanded. I knew that as a sprit it could sense magic better than I could. Magic can leave a residue for a period of time, and my abilities weren't good enough to feel it. Renfield, as some sort of sprit with a long Latin name that I couldn't remember, wasn't restricted by five senses and should be able to tell me anything that had happened. It also had information. Like if Anais and Maurice were wearing anything that had a certain protection charm that I could learn how to penetrate...or if there if was an obvious explanation on why they wanted Brian...

Reinfield struggled under my third repetition. Its form became misshapen and it puddled to the floor, sloshing to the curve of the circles. "Boon," it slurred. "Pay me a boon and I will tell."

I stared at Reinfield for a moment. Sure, give the spirit something from me—like my real first name, my soul, or a piece of my hair and it will tell me something concrete.

Would it be true? Eh, maybe. But while I would be working on a goose chase, Reinfield would have a piece of me that could be used against me, to control me.

After all, nothing good came from making a shady deal.

So I started the process of banishing it back to the space in-between worlds.

**Chapter Four**

 

I thought a lot about my various incantations during my run.

Ibburim had this habit of running into each other their out history: case point—Brian and I.

During the whole mess in France I was a charming young man known as Oriel, and Brian was Maude and working with the French resistance. That was the closest that we would ever get together until two centuries later. I was working for the Council as Mikhail Pominov, and was stuck doing bodyguard duty. For a year, I was watching over an archaeological dig in Egypt was when I'd met one of the archaeologists, Wilma Harrison.

Things were good then, happy.

And like many things in my life, good things couldn't last long and the conga line of bad life choices continued.

 

-

 

I entered the bathroom of my apartment feeling frustrated. No answers as of yet, but I had some weak spot barred from entering and leaving. The lack of any information made me feel jumpy. I was itching for a fight that clearly wasn't going to happen soon enough. I had to keep some control over my actions otherwise I was going to end up doing something idiotic. Again.

 

 

 

"Jennifer," Amna said behind me. I saw her reflection in the mirror. Her black hair was down, a sight that could only be seen in the morning and at night. "Razor. Down."

My own reflection came into focus and I saw what was wrong. The lower half of my face was slathered with white foam. Swearing, I dropped my razor in the sink and wiped the shaving cream off my face with a small towel. _Not again_ , I thought miserably. I opened the mirror to reveal the medicine cabinet and took two orange pill bottles out.

"Heard that you and Brian had a fun adventure last night." She watched me critically as I counted the correct number of pills that were prescribed for me today. "He said that you got whammied, and didn't wanted to go to the Clinic."

I held my pointer finger up to pause her and I swallowed the pills dry. "I'm fine. All under control." I waved her away but she entered the small bathroom.

"Don't give me that crap," she said, her hands were at her hips and she sounded like my mom. "After last year, you shouldn't be taking this lightly. I'm honestly surprised that Brian never dragged you to get checked over."

"Ah, but hubris is a trait for tragic heroes! They shall speak of me and of my glorious adventures with my constellation twinkling above!" I turned my back on her and went to go start brushing my teeth.

And then her slipper struck the back of my head. I almost swallowed my toothbrush, the mint toothpaste did a good job of cleaning my throat. I turned on the spot and rubbed my head, glaring daggers at my best friend.

"Really?" I coughed, trying to get the toothpaste out of my mouth.

"Your asshat levels are rising. It's either that or I can call your mother."

I spat a glob of toothpaste into the sink. Great, my ex-wife and best friend were teaming up again. All we needed was my mom and this would be perfect. "I thought this sorta thing involves a banner and a pre-planned speech?"

"Who's name that I heard this morning?" Amna's tone was hard and unmerciful.

I froze. Apologizing for my behavior should had been said instead of running my mouth.

"Let me tell you this, I don't like waking up knowing that my best friend may be flashing through her past lives." 

I shivered unintentionally as she brought that up. It wasn't fun for your conscious to be bouncing around multiple personalities.

"I get it," I croaked, trying not to think back to the dissociated feeling from this morning. "Please stop sounding like my mom."

"I like your mom." Emma appeared next to Amna and was wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. There was only one bathroom in our apartment and it was her turn to use it. "She thinks I'm adorable. Keep doing it," she encouraged Amna.

Amna grinned and modified her voice with what she thought was my mom's Bostonian accent. "Jennifer Vidal Morris. I have told you—"

I held my hands up in surrender and left the bathroom. Emma gleefully took the abandoned spot. "I give up! I'll go after lunch today, happy?" The bathroom door was slammed behind me, and I heard Emma's chortled laughter.

"Be nice to your doctor," Emma's voice carried over. "And if you see Dr. Campbell, tell her that I'll be scheduling my physical with her soon!" Ever since her near-death encounter with a vampire last year, she had to come in for yearly physicals for maybe half a decade to make sure that the vampire venom was leaving her body safely. It was a long process that meant lots of needles and waiting for tests results.

Emma was good so far. The venom was leaving her body with minimal side effects, like having the very accurate ability of sensing how close the undead was to her.

Amna still didn't look pleased. Her mouth was pinched together and her eyes were burning holes into me.

"What?" I asked, sounded exasperated with losing the fight. "I'll be checked over and everything is going to be fine."

"Haven't we talked about this?"

"My hubris?"

"No," she said, gritting her teeth. "You told me last year that if you were—"

"And it was only today," I said. "I had only two _very_ _small_ episodes today. I took my medication, I'm going to the second-nearest Clinic, and I'm meeting Dr. Saunders this week. Amna, I am _fine_."

"I'm not convinced until I see some progress. You want Brian and I to make sure that you're in control, and that's exactly what we've been doing, so don't get mad when we point things out." She led me into the kitchenette and there was a stack of pancakes that were made yesterday. They were crafted into the shape of smiley-faces, and nothing would make my morning better than by stabbing those faces with a fork and knife.

I helped myself to some and drizzled maple syrup into the eye sockets. "First order of business," I said, changing the topic. "Get Emma and the rest of you guys up to date, do the tracking spell, and kick Anais and Maurice's asses before they do anything."

"And if this is connected to what happened last year?" Amna primly cut into her pancakes into triangular pieces. "And if the Wight Council gets involved—" She pronounced it the way it should, 'Vight' "—then you can't play dumb anymore. I bet they have a nice big file on what you've been doing for these past few years."

"The worst end result could be them recruiting me," I said.

Amna groaned.

"What?" I said. "They've been making veiled offers since freshmen year."

"Still going to say no?"

I hesitated and a piece of my pancake fell to my plate and drowned in a puddle of maple syrup. A part of my always thought why not? I wouldn't have to illegally sneak around, I could get the needed training, and I could use their resources to help people...

Yeah, I would love to have that job back, but it had ended horribly last time. That had cost me everything and it still haunted me to this day. A lot of things I've done were because of me and my bad decision making alone.

That job was intense, and I was sure that doing it once was enough.

I pushed my plate away, no longer feeling hungry. "I don't know. How's the internship? You got back pretty late last night."

"You're changing the subject because my job's been boring and you know that I won't stop taking about it." Amna jabbed her fork at my direction. "You suck."

"But I'm your sucky bestie." I smiled. "Come on, try to get me interested in whatever weird thing you're doing with genes these days."

 

-

 

Confession time!

After bringing everyone up to speed via many phonecalls, I did not go the clinic before my afternoon class started. Instead of going straight to my appointment, I went to the gym to get beaten up.

Duncan's older sister, Fiona, was a terrifying force to reckon with, and her physical abilities only grew immensely that one day of the month.

And she had me pinned to the mat within a minute.

"Weak, Morris," Fiona said. "Were you even practicing in the summer?"

"Hey, I disarmed someone that had a knife to my throat." I writhed under her, trying to find a way to throw her off, but it was useless. She always had the upper hand.

The gym that I frequented was a small place that didn't catered usually to mortals. Those that had preternatural strength could be found here, and those that did not could only try their damn hardest to keep up. Daisy had been teaching me for years how to fight better.

"You could have prevented having that knife there to begin with." She twisted my arm and had her knee on my back. "Next question: How much danger did Duncan almost walked into?" Fiona let me go and I scrambled up to my feet.

"Should I lie?"

I ducked when she aimed a kick at my head the second that I was up. I blocked her next strike that was her hand with my forearm. I tried to use my elbow to lunge forward and hit; but she merely stepped to the side and trapped my arm with her two hands. Twisting, she locked my arm and aimed a kick at my knee. I yelped when she made contact and was in danger of dislocating my shoulder again when I jerked in pain.

"Well, you were the one getting him to ask me if there were any necromancy in the area. I asked some of my contacts and there hasn't been anything weird in the morgue." Fiona let me go again and gestured me to strike first. "Shouldn't you be asking your mom about that?"

I ignored her question. I feinted a punch to the right and went to hit her left. My knuckled skimmed past her stomach. She went for the head and I blocked it only to almost get punched in the face again. "Hey, speaking of contacts, how's that EMT of yours?"

Fiona’s leg hooked around mines and I was on the ground again. Her forearm was against my neck. The amber in her eyes grew brighter with the anger of her inner wolf sulking in the background.

See? This was what happened when I tried to stay interested in my friends' lives. They either try to bore me enough to make me go to a clinic faster, or they would beat me up.

"Um," I said. "Did you do something different to your hair?"

She was tall and muscular like the after picture for bodybuilder ads, but she reveled in her femininity. Floral dresses that had twirling skirts, cute strappy shoes, the whole nine yards. She was female and proud, and unfortunately people didn't appreciate that sentiment.

"She ended it before school started “

"You know..." I heaved a dramatic sigh. "There's always me."

Fiona threw her head back and laughed. "Sorry, I don't go for assholes."

"Ah, but true love can miraculously transform me into a jerk with a heart of gold!"

"Man, your pretentious levels are up today. How badly is that ego of yours bruised?"

"I'll heal." I rolled my shoulder back and felt a pop. "Mind telling me what went wrong with that last night's encounter?"

"Easy. You all talked too much. If you'd stopped with the talking and instead had gone for the first blow, then I think this," she gestured to my new scars, "wouldn't be there. What's the first rule of being in a fight."

"Run away," I deadpanned. "Be like Brave Sir Robin and run away."

"Running, yes." She cocked her head to the side. "And why didn't you run and contact someone?"

Shame burned in my stomach and my skin itched with the feel of it. I ducked my head and refused to meet her eyes. I couldn't think of a reasonable explanation that could explain my actions.

"You had to play the reckless hero?" Fiona sighed. "You're lucky that—"

"I know," I said. I raised my hands. "I was stupid."


End file.
